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It was an unfortunately cold evening; a bitter deterrent that did little to stop a dedicated houseboy. He sought only to satisfy a foreign urge, an urge he hadn’t felt in a while.
Roger wanted a cigarette.
It wasn’t a craving by any means. No, he’d never been much of a smoker. Not nearly as much as his friends back in the day. James didn’t smoke either, but at least he was reasonable about it; he’d bought a pack on an occasion once (when? - Roger wasn’t quite sure, he’d have to ask James) and they’d smoked a few by starlight. Since then Roger had doubted they’d been touched at all, though James would baselessly suggest they smoke them every once and a while. They simply never got around to it.
There was something so rebellious about it, this time, however. He felt like a teen again, sneaking from the window of his parents house at such a late hour. It was much too late to be smoking but nobody would stop him on Faraday's property. He sat up beside James, who was presumably fast asleep. He opened the bedside chest with nimble fingers, careful not to wake him, and pulled from it a box and light. The lighter, a sterling silver, was practical for much more than smoking, thankfully. It would be missed that much more when it finally failed, they had determined. It was a slight splurge - not like money was hard to come by with a hefty allowance from the professor - and was embossed with a floral design.
The lighter fit into his pocket nicely, but the carton not so much. He needn’t be greedy after all, not when he need only take one and return the rest to their home within the crate. He threw on a blue housecoat, a gift, and made his way outdoors. James breathed quietly behind him as he left.
With a sturdy hand he brought the cigarette to his lips and with the other he lit it. He took an exaggerated puff and leaned back against the greenhouse wall. Roger knew better than to smoke just outside the garden door. With the greenhouse there he’d doubt he’d ever get the smoke out of his robe, let alone air the garden out in the cold evening before morning. It was tempting, however, to smoke even indoors after the first cold breeze made contact with his skin.
Constable after constable marched past on the streets. Once he’d worried about being spotten - the faint light of the cigarette had seemingly expanded as the constable approached. The tall man - Mr. Burne-Jones was it? - seemed to pause even if only for a moment. The curfew imposed was reason enough to earn him a scolding, among other things, but Burne-Jones had owed him a favour. This once he would look the other way.
“Roger?” A voice behind him called. He didn’t need to pivot to see the other man, only needing to peer over his shoulder to meet James’ gaze. Roger offered a tired smile, “Good evening, Moo.” James rolled his eyes and shut the door quietly behind him to approach his lover. “Are you smoking all the cigarettes without me?” He teased.
Roger shook his head, offering the object in question in the other’s direction. “Just one.” James accepted it and cupped it delicately from the oncoming wind. The two men huddled close.
A light upstairs flickered on and James ushered Roger around the side of the house with a boyish grin. Roger couldn’t help but return it, “I feel so devious.”
“Don't be getting too devious on me now, Roger, You know the women’ll love that.” He slunk an arm around the sailor’s waist with less finesse than intended. Neither said anything for a moment or two, gazes simultaneously following the light emitted by a nearby bobby’s headlamp as he walked.
“You never hold me in the daylight.” Roger commented, resting a head on James’ shoulder. He stole the cigarette for a moment to James’ dismay, only to return it moments later. “It’s nice.”
“Oh hush,” James murmured, near a whisper. “I’d hold you more if I could.”
“I don’t see what’s stopping you.”
A sigh followed, “You know why.” He squeezed Roger’s shoulder a little tighter and Roger reluctantly allowed himself to lean into the embrace at last. If he hadn’t been itching for a break, too, James’ might have been angry to find him smoking so late. Fortunately for Roger, he was a weak man; for him, of course. On his own James could accomplish a lot, probably much more than they ever would together.
They’d smoked in the Navy. Not nearly as much as they could’ve, but certainly more than enough. They’d shared a cigarette there, too. It wasn’t just the wind James had protected it from, then; there was the seabreeze too. They didn’t smoke with everybody else when they were together. Roger missed the seabreeze often. The not-so-subtle spray of saltwater, unwelcome in its entirety, had drenched him time and time again. It wasn't often enough to condition him, but it was enough to earn a few good snickers from the others on board. James particularly liked to poke fun at him when he was around. That was then, though.
This was now.
“James?” He whispered as a bobby’s footsteps hammered past, “Do you remember that time I baked you a cake?”
A hand stroked his hair softly. “Remember? That was last week.” That wasn’t right, it had felt like so long ago. “Last week? I’ve got to tone back the Joy a bit, I think…” James nodded along, placing the cigarette between Roger’s lips and untangling himself from the other. It was chillier than before, but the wind had stopped. It was Roger’s turn to cup what remained of the cigarette.
A voice called from upstairs; “Roger? James? I swear that better not be you two nitwits chattering out there.” Instinctively both voices lowered and both bodies hugged the wall, “What do you say we go back inside, pup?” Roger nodded along, pressing out the remaining cigarette and tossing it down. “I’d like that.”
“I’m going to make you pick that up in the morning,” James had scolded uneventfully. “You mean you’re going to pick it up for me? And then complain all morning about it?” James didn’t combat an argument he couldn’t fight.
“Are you two smoking out there?” Doctor Faraday followed up in disgust.
They ducked back into the safety of the greenhouse and shook off their housecoats as if that would mask the stench. “I love you, James” Roger intertwined their fingers leading his counterpart back to bed.
“I love you, Roger.”